Vodka Love Confessions
by hollygwood
Summary: -Spoilers for Blame it on the Alcohol- Blaine is drunk, VERY drunk and Kurt is taking care of him. Blaine blurts out some things and generally acts like an idiot. Klaine. One shot.


**Vodka love confessions.**

_-SPOILERS FOR BLAME IT ON THE ALCOHOL-_

_Oh. _

_So I just HAD to write some Drunk!Blaine I'm sorry I couldn't resist! This isn't great, but hey it's just for fun with a little bit of Klaine (not much though) for fun. I love writing drunk Blaine, it's hilarious. This is all pure speculation for what is really looking like it's going to be a truly brilliant episode, and I can't wait and this is just getting me by until it's finally Tuesday! Enjoy xx_

"Kuuuuurt!" Kurt heard his name being positively screeched, at a level only dogs could hear; that decibel level that only really, _really _drunk people could hit. It could have been a number of people; everyone at this party was pretty gone; he could see Artie passed out **next **to his wheelchair, Brittany in only in underwear and what looked like the hideous maroon cardigan Blaine had been wearing earlier was asleep next to him. He turned in the direction of the hideous noise, and saw Blaine, dressed in a white shirt, those hideous _rolled up jeans_ and one shoe, his curly hair was sticking out at various odd angles, and he was wearing a pair of pink rimmed sunglasses. Kurt probably had no right to feel irritated by the amount of drunk people around him; after all an hour ago he'd been pretty gone himself, but watching Blaine kiss Rachel and then the subsequent three pints of water he'd drunk afterwards so his Dad wouldn't ground him into eternity had done a pretty good job of sobering him up.

"Blaine! Nice to see your lips not attached to my best friend's for a change." Kurt couldn't help that sarcastic little comment slip out. He wasn't _really _mad at Blaine, he knew it was a game of spin the bottle; he'd kissed Santana in a similar way not two rounds later - _"This doesn't make me your beard now Hummel, understand?" _- But it didn't matter; Blaine was way too drunk to get any kind of sarcasm. In fact he probably barely recalled his own name right about now.

"You," Blaine began, putting his hands on Kurt's waist, "are the BEST friend I've ever met."

"And you are very drunk." Kurt couldn't help but smile.

"But we're not jussssht friends are we?" Blaine said, pushing his sunglasses onto his head and staring into Kurt's eyes. He removed his hands from Kurt's waist and grabbed one of his hands, pulling Kurt down so they were both sat on the sofa. Kurt looked around; Santana was on an armchair making out with some guy Kurt had never seen before and was pretty sure wasn't invited. Rachel was dancing on the kitchen table, Finn standing beside it holding her hand and roaring with laughter. The house was a mess, and he knew Rachel would be in big trouble tomorrow. Kurt turned back to Blaine and sighed. The love confession he'd waited so long to hear, and it was a vodka fuelled ramble that Kurt knew Blaine probably didn't mean and certainly wouldn't remember in the morning.

"You're right." Kurt replied levelly, "we're best friends."

"No – more!" Blaine insisted, slumping against Kurt for a minute. Kurt tensed up, this was somehow ten times worse than watching Blaine drunkenly kiss his friend. Words he wanted to hear, but words that meant nothing because Blaine had been drinking vodka and orange juice since six pm. On cue Blaine suddenly moved away from Kurt. "I want nother drink!" He slurred, attempting to stand up.

"I think not big boy." Kurt smirked, trying to pull Blaine back down.

"Want a drink!" Blaine insisted, and Kurt sighed.

"Fine! Stay there and I'll get you one." Blaine nodded and sat back down, and Kurt walked into the kitchen, where Rachel was now sat on Finn's lap, looking close to passing out. Finn didn't look at all unhappy to be in this position. "Alright?" Kurt smiled as he filled a glass up with orange juice, omitting any of the large bottle of grey goose vodka stood beside many empty bottles and cans. At that moment Puck wandered in and cracked open another can of beer from the box on the kitchen side. Puck seemed drunk but in control of himself, despite probably having drunk more than Blaine. But then again, Puck had spent his entire high school life getting drunk (and impregnating people, Kurt thought with a small snort) whereas Blaine had actually got an education. Kurt figured Blaine was so drunk he wouldn't notice the lack of vodka in the drink, and sure enough when Kurt located Blaine after several minutes of looking (the boy had, for some reason unbeknown to either of them decided to sit on the street outside "under the starrrrrs Kurt!") the boy downed the drink gratefully. "I love you Kurt." Blaine said after a while, "Sho, sho much." His slurring reached a new level, and Kurt barely had time to feel his heart skip a beat when Blaine fell onto the pavement, his cheek smacking the tarmac. Kurt sighed and kneeled in front of his friend. Struggling to lift his entire torso up. "No don't pass out on me Blaine!" Kurt mumbled, "and you're gonna owe me big time in the morning, these pants are Marc Jacobs and the street is filthy." But Blaine wasn't listening, his head was lolling and a bruise was already forming on his cheek. With difficulty Kurt lifted his friend until he was in a standing position. "Blaine just walk for me, I just need to get you inside!" Kurt said loudly in Blaine's ear, and Blaine began to walk.

"I feel siiiick." He moaned, and Kurt let a small smile play on his lips.

"I bet." Kurt replied, and he sat Blaine down on one of Rachel's now wrecked sofas. He walked back into the kitchen where this time Rachel, Blaine AND Puck were all leaning against each other on the ground all out for the count. Kurt smirked, and grabbed a bottle of water and the washing up bowl. Then he walked back in to the living area and saw he was too late. Blaine had puked all over his jeans, his head lolling on the arm of the sofa. "Oh dear." Kurt murmured, and he thrust the bowl on to Blaine's lap and tried to avoid breathing in the fumes. Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand.

"Don't leave me, I'm so sick." Blaine slurred, and Kurt held his hand back, squeezing hard.

"I'm not leaving you, but you have to drink some water." He fed water into Blaine's mouth and then rubbed his back as he threw up again and again into the washing up bowl. Every time he puked Kurt fed him some more water and stroked his messy sweaty curls, and sighed. "You're gonna feel like your head's exploded in the morning." After an hour or so, Blaine put the bowl on the ground and looked at Kurt.

"I feel terrible." He muttered, "and embarrassed." There was still a slight slur to his voice but he was a lot more together now he'd vomited almost everything out of his system.

"Get some sleep." Kurt simply replied with a smirk, and Blaine lay down, out like a light within five seconds. Kurt grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa and laid it over Blaine, then settled down in front of the sofa, keeping an eye on his friend, knowing he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. He'd been planning to head home when he'd sobered up enough to drive, but he ran off a quick lie of a text to his dad; he wasn't leaving Blaine like this, he'd heard people could choke in a drunk sleep and he wouldn't take any chances.

Blaine opened his eyes and immediately regretted the action; the light of the room burned into his eyeballs and made his splitting headache ten times worse. His stomach lurched and he hung his head over the sofa and puked into an already full up bowl of vomit. The smell turned his stomach further and it was five minutes before he finished what was clearly not his first or last puke of this party. He sat up, wondering how it was physically possible to feel this ill from just a few (ok a good few) vodkas. The room spun, but when it settled down he could see it looked like a bomb site. There were clothes, beer bottles, vodka bottles, juice cartons, snacks, cups and sleeping teenagers littered around the room, chairs were upturned, there were various stains on the carpet and one of the curtains was pulled down. Having a sneaking suspicion that might have been him, he looked down and saw Kurt, leaning against the sofa, his head lolling, fast asleep, one hand reached out to where Blaine was quite sure it had been touching his as he slept. He felt his heart skip a little as it always did every time he saw Kurt, and he groaned, shoving his sore head into his hands. Last night was pretty damn blurry but he remembered kissing Rachel...then singing, though what song he couldn't remember, though he was pretty sure it was from the eighties...As if it mattered! He vaguely remembered saying some stupid stuff to Kurt, he might have even blurted out a love confession in his vodka induced state? He DID love Kurt but saying all that stuff to him drunk and vomiting everywhere was hardly the way he planned to say it! Kurt would probably think Blaine didn't mean any of it though; the truth was he did, but he didn't want it to be like this, he wanted to make it special. He'd play dumb with Kurt for now; one day when he got up the courage (ironic) to tell Kurt how felt, sober, he'd do it, and properly, the way Kurt deserved, and it would be...

"Blaine Anderson!" He was distracted from his thoughts by a voice way to near to his sore head for it to be in any way pleasant.

"Owwww, Kurt I've got the world's WORST headache!" Blaine muttered, clutching his head as though it was about to fall off.

"I'm not surprised OR sympathetic." Kurt smirked, turning to face his friend, "I stayed up all night making sure you didn't choke on your own damn vomit."

"Thanks." Blaine continued to groan, and then; "I'm sorry if I was a massive idiot last night, I really don't recall much of it." He saw a flash of disappointment on Kurt's face which the boy quickly masked.

"Don't be, we were all pretty bad." He replied, smiling, "Your classiest moment was either kissing Rachel Berry, singing, no make that screeching the eighties hit 'don't you want me', vomiting your guts up on your own jeans or smacking your head off the pavement because you wanted to 'watch the stars.'" Kurt was grinning now, and Blaine couldn't help laughing, before gingerly touching his sore cheek, which felt bruised and grazed.

"I don't think I'll be drinking for a while." Blaine muttered, lying back on the sofa and pulling the blanket over his head.

"Me neither, I wasn't an angel, I got with Santana Lopez." Kurt smirked, and Blaine pulled the blanket back off.

"Still gay?" Blaine enquired, and Kurt laughed.

"As Christmas." Kurt grinned.

"Me too." Blaine replied, then, "girls taste weird." Blaine yearned then to take Kurt's face in his hands, kiss him, and tell him that what he'd said last night wasn't drunken mumblings, that he meant every word, but he knew it wasn't worth it. When he didn't smell like vomit and there weren't ten drunk passed out teenagers around them; it was just finding the perfect moment.


End file.
